Shipping Up to Boston
by ChasingPerfectionTomorrow
Summary: Tauriel is a down-on-her-luck doctor who's marriage has finally fallen apart. Prompted by her friends and family, she finally goes in search of the Irish pub singer she met one fateful summer during her final year of pre-med. A man with whom she had an instant connection. A man who has haunted her dreams. A man who happens to be the father of her only child. (Modern Kiliel AU)
1. Shipping Up to Boston

**A/N: **This story, like so many before it, began as an innocent prompt presented to me on tumblr. Naturally, I'm about 12,000 words deep because I don't understand the meaning of the word 'drabble.' It's full of some of my favorite tropes because I'm a sucker for stories like these. Judge me as you will. Title is indeed derived from the song by the Dropkick Murphy's.

This chapter contains sexy times. Be kind, I'm a bit rusty at them.

* * *

** Shipping Up to Boston **

**Chapter One**

* * *

**S**he's had the same dream almost every night for as long as she can remember.

She's running after him, running, running, always running. As though she's been running all her life, or perhaps for an eternity. She's chasing him, straining and desperate, but he is always _just_ out of reach.

Along the path there are things, terrible and grotesque, shifting in the shadows, reaching and grasping at her. She can feel the sickening brush of their fingers in her hair and across her skin, leaving cold, sticky trails in their wake.

She's terrified, but not of the nameless, faceless creatures, not really. The fear grows as he slips further and further away, stumbling headlong into the darkness, and she knows she won't reach him in time.

A moment before the blackness envelopes him completely, he turns toward her, a familiar name on his lips, and when she wakes she can almost remember his face.

* * *

**T**he pub is loud, packed with people, and swimming in clouds of cigarette smoke. It's not the sort of place Tauriel typically would have glanced twice at, let alone entered, but it's their last night in Dublin before they head back to the States and her girlfriends wear her down.

She can barely hear herself think as they pass through the doors, immediately pressed together by a sea of hot, sweaty bodies. There's a live band playing at the far end, but it's so loud she can't tell whether they're any good or not. The four of them find a place at the bar, barely managing to order drinks, and her friends start to 'scope' the place out.

Their final year of college starts up in a little less than two weeks, and the weight of that realization strikes her suddenly, taking some of the excitement out of the evening.

Her friends, all of them perky and dressed to impress, mingle easily, they usually do, but Tauriel isn't great with people she hasn't met before and never seems to know what to say. She hangs a back a bit, sipping her whiskey and coke (light on the whiskey) and tries to listen to the band. They're pretty good, she decides, just able to make out the lead singer and the guitarist. The singer is blonde and handsome and the guitar player dark and rakish in comparison. They are both very good looking, but it's the darker of the two who really draws her eye. There is just something about him.

A few moments later the song ends and the blonde singer announces they will be taking a short break. To her surprise –and alarm- they jump from the stage and head straight toward her. The dark one locks eyes with her and she flushes deeply, ducking her head and turning back toward the bar. For some insane reason her heart is pounding madly in her chest and she mentally chastises herself.

Stirring her drink awkwardly, as the two band members squeeze themselves in next to her, she's shocked when _he_ turns and speaks to her.

"Have we met before?" he asks in a soft brogue, his brow crinkled in honest confusion.

Swallowing thickly, she finds he is even more handsome up close, but also smaller than she had previously thought. He's at least two inches shorter, his eyes a warm brown and a roguish smirk on his face that should definitely be illegal, along with the ridiculously attractive layer of stubble on his jaw and chin. His hair is thick and curly and he unconsciously tucks it behind his ears as he waits for her response.

Tauriel shakes her head, but she finds that she feels the same. As if they have met somewhere before, a long time ago.

"N-no, I don't think so," she says, mentally kicking herself for stuttering like an idiot.

His eye brows shoot up a bit in surprise. "An American, eh? Here on holiday then?"

She nods, sipping anxiously at her drink and wishing she'd ordered it a little stronger. "Um, yeah, it's our last night before we fly back."

He smiles at her, and it warms her more than the whiskey, settling low in her belly. "A shame, that. Will ye stay through the set?"

"Well," she turns to glance at her friends, each of them occupied with their own conversations, though they are throwing her furtive and knowing glances that make her cheeks heat. "Yeah, I think so."

His smile widens, and _he's_ blushing as he says. "I hope ye do. I'd like to buy ye a drink."

Tauriel bites her lip, but she can't hide her delighted smile. "I'd, well, I'd like that."

His blonde friend elbows him then, giving him a meaningful look and offering her a kind smile as he heads back toward the stage.

"What's yer name?" he asks, walking slowly backward through the crowd.

She giggles a bit as he trips over a girl's insanely high pumps. "Tauriel," she cries over the noise. His face brightens and something almost _sensual_ glints in his eyes.

"Alright Tauriel, ye wait right there, aye?"

Feeling ridiculously pleased and somewhat foolish she nods and watches as he turns and hurries back to the stage where his friend is waiting impatiently, rolling his eyes.

One of her friends sidles up to her, smirking and wiggling her brows, and draws another blush from Tauriel. She ducks her head, unable to wipe the smile off her face.

A moment later she hears his voice over the microphone. "I'd like to dedicate this next song to a very special lass. Tauriel," her eyes shoot up, stunned as she finds his eyes, as well as the entire pub's, are now on her, "Here's hoping ye let me buy ye that drink."

Feeling as though a giant spotlight has been fixed on her, he begins to play _and_ sing, his voice gruff but pleasant. Suddenly, she has a vision of the man in her dream turning and he has _his_ face, and it nearly knocks her off her feet. In that moment she grows roots into the floor, and thinks it would take several natural disasters to move her an inch as he holds her gaze determinedly through the entire song.

* * *

**H**e buys her a drink after his set is done. It's late and the bar is thinning.

Tauriel sips at the whiskey, willing it to give her courage even as awkwardness settles in. Tauriel has never been particularly good at talking to boys. Especially handsome Irish ones who play the guitar and sing in seedy bars. Tonight is no exception. But the warmth and genuine interest in his eyes makes her want to try. That and a strange, niggling sense that it was _meant _to happen, their meeting. A feeling she can't explain, a feeling that is both frightening and exhilarating.

"Y-you're very good. At the guitar, I mean," she stutters, blushing. Her friends remain close by and she can sense that they are ready to leave, to head out and find their next adventure. A part of her hopes they will leave without her.

He smiles, stirring his own drink, which is a pale amber with only a perfunctory dash of cola to darken the Jameson. He's wearing a dark plaid button up over a faded t-shirt, which is emblazoned with a band she's never heard of. Faded jeans, that are a bit tight, hug his thighs and calves, tapering down to end in scuffed, black leather boots. In contrast, Tauriel had been 'forced' to wear a tight red dress that cuts low in the back with a pair of short, black heels. Marci, her best friend, had spent nearly an hour curling her hair and artfully pinning it to one side so that the coppery locks fell over one shoulder. Her friends had even managed to convince her to wear eyeliner, mascara, blush, and a light lipstick. She feels overdressed.

"The name's Kíli," he says, flashing her a smirk. He jerks his head to one side, indicating the blonde singer who is surrounded by a gaggle of female fans in one of the larger booths at the back of the bar. "And my brother was always the better singer, but I like to try from time to time, when the mood strikes."

He winks at her, taking a long swallow of his drink and Tauriel bites her lip as she watches his Adam's-apple bob against the olive skin of his throat. He's leaning casually against the bar, exuding confidence and a sort of raw masculinity she's never encountered before. She's used to frat boys who try too hard, Kíli seems comfortable in his own skin. It's refreshing.

"I didn't mean to say you weren't a good singer, because you totally were, just that you're, like, _really _good at the guitar," Tauriel forces herself to stop rambling with an internal cringe. Kíli laughs and looks at her like he thinks she's the most interesting thing in the room.

"I make ye nervous, don't I?" he asks bluntly, and Tauriel looks down at her toes, sure she's never going to stop blushing.

"Of course not!" she protests, glances up, catches his look, and amends sheepishly, "Well, perhaps a _bit_-"

"Ye make me nervous as a bloody chiseller," he scoffs.

Tauriel frowns. "A what?"

Kíli blushes a bit himself and tugs a hand through his curls. "Ye see, yer making me forget how to talk proper."

"Proper?" she prompts, still confused, her head beginning to buzz pleasantly as she takes another sip of her drink.

He raises a brow at her, looking amused. "How long you say you've been in Dublin?"

"Oh, um, a few weeks. Why?"

"This yer first night at a Local- Ah, at pub I mean, one that ain't in the touristy parts of town?"

Tauriel shrugs a little. "I guess so, we've mostly been hitting the museums or driving into the country to see the sights."

He nods his head as though this has answered all his questions. "You been enjoying yourself then?" Tauriel notices that his brogue is softer now, as though he's concentrating on the way he speaks to her, enunciating each word carefully.

"Well yeah, it's a beautiful country… a bit cold and rainy at times, but the people are wonderful. I'll be sorry to leave," she adds, realizing suddenly that it's true and that the reason is completely ridiculous. They've only just met and she's probably boring him silly. Another ignorant, air headed American girl who only frequents the touristy parts of towns and cities.

"Where you from in the States?"

"Boston, right now, attending college, but I was raised in New York City."

"A city girl eh," he teases lightly, and heat creeps through her veins. "What you attending Uni for?"

"Oh, well, I'm pre-med, my last semester," she mumbles into her glass, not quite able to meet his eye. An old worry and stress swells in her stomach, clawing its way up her throat. She'd nearly forgotten what she would be returning home to for a few blissful moments; the endless applications for medical schools, the shadowing, the long hours of volunteering and studying...

Kíli whistles softly. "Smart and beautiful, I'm sure your boyfriend is anxious ta have ye home."

Tauriel blinks at him, surprised. "Boyfriend? I don't have a boyfriend."

His smirk is slow and almost sensual over the rim of his foggy glass and she feels that heat rising again, banishing all thoughts of medical school and future uncertainties.

"A shame, that," he says and his voice has taken on a husky quality that warms her even more than the whiskey.

Tauriel opens her mouth to reply, not entirely sure what she means to say, when Chloe grabs her arm.

"Alison wants to hit this club downtown before it gets too late," she says at a loud whisper.

Her friend is a little wobbly in her fire-red heels and her mascara has started to run. Tauriel grabs a napkin from the bar and dutifully wipes the blackened streaks away. Her friend smiles thankfully, sneaking appreciative glances at Kíli.

Tauriel turns to Kíli, not wishing to leave. It's foolish, but if tonight has to be her last night before returning to reality, she'd rather spend it with him. But she hardly knows him, he could be a crazy axe murder for all she knows. It's not the safe or logical thing to do, and Tauriel is nothing if not safe and logical.

"Um, well, it was nice to meet you…" she says, feeling decidedly lame.

Kíli's smile is a bit forced. "Twas a pleasure ma'am, though I'd be remiss if I didn't say I wish you weren't leavin'."

Chloe giggles, clearly smitten, but tugs on Tauriel's arm anxiously, all but dragging her from the bar. She wants to tell him that she doesn't want to leave either, that she'd quite like to stay the whole night talking to him over glowing glasses of whiskey, shoulders brushing over a dirty bar on the wrong side of town. That she'd like to get to know him. That she wants to know silly things like his favorite color, whether he prefers dogs or cats, and what his favorite movies are. But other things, deeper things, his dreams, his fears, what he thinks about alone at night, if anyone has broken his heart, if he's ever been in love… if he even believes in love.

Instead she lifts a hand awkwardly and says, "Goodbye, Kíli."

He raises a hand briefly in response, his expression difficult to read in the semi-darkness, and then she's gone and back into the night.

* * *

**T**hey're a block away when he catches up to them.

Tauriel is sullen, the magic stolen from the night and her feet aching. Her friends are chattering excitedly amongst themselves, but Marci at least senses her withdrawal. The much shorter girl, dressed in a slinky black dress and open toed heels, slips an arm through hers and offers her an apologetic smile.

"He was pretty cute," she says nonchalantly.

Tauriel shoots her a look and rolls her eyes. They both laugh and she feels marginally better. It's silly to feel sorry over a stranger, a man she barely knows. She doesn't believe in fate, after all. No matter what her heart might be whispering traitorously in her ear.

He grabs her by the arm a moment later and spins her around. He's out of breath and his dark eyes wide.

"How'd you like to see the real Dublin?" He asks breathlessly, stunning her and her friends completely.

Without consciously deciding to do so, she slips her arm from Marci's and opens her mouth, her heart racing. Nothing comes out.

Marci answers for her, "She'd love to, let me just jot down the address of where we're staying."

"Marci!" Alison protests, giving Kíli a nasty look. "She can't just go roaming the streets with some random from a bar!"

Marci rolls her eyes as she digs in her purse and pulls free a pad and paper and begins scribbling down an address. They'd come to Ireland, the five of them, under the pretense of visiting Marci's Aunt, though they'd spent little time at all in her upscale little condo.

"Don't forget our flight leaves at noon tomorrow," Marci tells her seriously before fixing Kíli with a look. "You take good care of her, show her a good time, and if anything bad happens to her I'll reenact the movie Taken and go Liam Neeson on your _arse_ , you get me?"

Kíli flashes a relived sort of smile. "Aye, _I get you_. I promise not a hair on her head shall be harmed."

"Good," Marci says and nods sternly. She shoves the piece of paper at him. "Don't have her back too late, she's a total bitch if she doesn't get enough sleep."

"Hey!-" Tauriel sputters, still trying to wrap her mind around the situation.

"I promise not to let her turn into a pumpkin," Kíli says. His face is bright and eager, but his gaze keeps sliding nervously across hers. Tauriel feels as though she's being sold into some strange sort of arranged marriage.

Marci begins to usher their friends away, practically shoving Alison down the street, before Tauriel can muster any sort of protest or acceptance. A moment later, she and Kíli are alone beneath the dim yellow of a wrought iron street lamp.

Kíli rubs a hand over the top of his head and rocks back on his heels. He shoves both hands into his pockets and then fixes her with a determined stare. "So, I wanted to take ye somewhere."

"Yes," she replies, "I had gathered that."

"It's somewhere I think you'll like," he offers.

"I should hope so."

"You don't have to if you don't want to," he says, uncertainty creeping into his voice.

Tauriel stares at him for a long moment, a hundred thoughts chasing each other through her mind. She manages to ignore all but one.

"Alright, lead the way."

* * *

**T**hey walk a few blocks, barely speaking, but their shoulders brush every few steps. Tauriel feels hyper aware of him. Of the way he smells –cigarettes, whiskey and something musky-, of the sound of his footsteps, and of the way his clothes shift with his body.

Her hands are tucked up under her arms as she attempts to ward off a chill, but also because she feels oddly vulnerable. Like she might come apart at any moment. She can feeling him looking at her but doesn't realize what he's doing until his outer shirt is draped over her shoulders.

"Don't bother ta protest," he says, "I won't be taking it back. I don't think yer friends would appreciate it if I let ya freeze ta death."

Robbed of what she had, in fact, been about to say, she blurts out the first thing that pops into her mind. "What's your favorite color?"

She can feel his amusement in the subsequent silence, but purses her lips in determination as she tugs his shirt closer about her. It smells fantastic, even with the slight but sharp note of his sweat, or perhaps because of it.

"Well, I'd have to say red… tonight," he says meaningfully, his eyes tracing the fall of her hair and the cut of her dress appreciatively.

"O-oh? And every other night?" She's glad it's dark so he can't see her blushing.

"I can't remember, but I think it'll be red from this night on," he says seriously.

"You're very smooth," she accuses a moment later as they round another corner. There are several groups of people wandering the streets with them and they all seem to be heading the same direction.

"Well, I'm glad ye think so, but I mostly have a poor habit of sayin' every fool thing that comes into me head." His brogue is thick again, rounding his words and deepening his voice.

"Is that why you came after me?" Another 'fool notion.'"

She glances sideways at him and catches his crooked smile. He's handsome and sweet and just being near him makes her skin warm and prickly. She wants to kiss him. Wants to press him against some wall in some alley and tug her fingers through his curls and nip at his full lower lip. Wants to make him moan and press against her, his hands up under her shirt, skating across her skin. She'd like to kiss him into the ground. She'd like to kiss him until she forgets her own name.

Instead she listens as he says, "Na, t'was possibly the wisest thing I've done in years."

"Well," she cautions, all but bursting with pleasure, "The night isn't over yet."

He reaches out, eyes deep and unfathomable, and boldly takes her hand. At the press of his palm to hers, she shivers with recognition. That feeling of déjà vu, of _fate_, washes over her again.

"I like my chances," he says with a wolfish grin.

"Come on," he adds, "we have ta hurry."

* * *

**H**e takes her to an underground night club.

They laugh their way down a pitch black flight of steps with a gaggle of girls, feeling the music before they can really hear it. She should be concerned; a strange man leading her into dark places, but it's not fear she feels tightening in her belly. The darkness seems to press them closer together, seems to amplify the current between them till their both breathing a little unsteadily.

At the door she hands him his shirt, peeling it off her body like she's removing some piece of herself and revealing a newly awoken creature beneath. A creature born to confidence, to spontaneity, to seduction.

Tauriel has never been one for clubs, or dancing, or running off with strange men. But tonight she wants to be for all those things. Tonight she wants to be all those things for him. Or maybe she wants to be them for herself for once. Maybe he's just the catalyst to a long life of always doing the right thing, the safe thing.

She locks eyes with him as the music pulses through her, the rhythm syncing to the thrum of her heart, and she sways her way into the crowd of undulating bodies as the stage lights throb. He stalks after her, a predatory look in his eyes, and nothing else exists.

When he catches her, large hands encase rounded hips and he leans into her, his pupils blown and his full lips slightly parted. Before the front of his body can meet hers, however, she flips playfully around in his grip so that his chest meets her back and her ass dips into the seat of his lap. She can feel the moist heat of his breath along her already sweaty neck and she bites her lip as they start to sway in tandem.

She's never felt like this before.

So free, so powerful, so alive. His hands smooth roughly down her sides and her arms reach around to clasp behind his neck. She think she feels the graze of his lips and teeth down the slope of her neck, but she's lost in the music, in the way she feels against him. Sweat condenses between her breasts, runs down her neck, and slithers over the ridges of her spine. She can smell him, almost taste him on her tongue, and it's electric.

Earlier she'd wanted to kiss him. Now she wants much, _much_ more.

She has no idea how long they dance like that. Like they're having sex on a very public dance floor surrounded by equally explicit couples and groups of people, but eventually Kíli moves them across the room and to a set of closed doors at the very back of the club.

"Where are we going?" she asks as he leads her through, hands never leaving her waist.

"I hadn't brought ye here for _that_," he murmurs into her ear. "No' that I'm complainin' or anythin'."

"Oh?" she says, out of breath and pulsing like a flame. "What did you bring me here for then?"

"If you'll stop distractin' me, I'll show ye," he says, his voice roughened as his fingers flex against her and then release her only to take her by the hand again.

She has the strangest notion that she'd follow him anywhere.

* * *

"**A** church?" she asks, surprised, as they emerge from below ground into the sort of room she'd expect to see in a medieval movie or something. They'd followed a series of tunnels, using the flashlight on his phone to find their way, speaking little but remaining close.

"Aye," he says, climbing up the stairs behind her and looking a bit sheepish.

Tauriel raises a brow at him, shivering a little as the sweat cools on her back. "Hoping to make an honest woman of me?"

"Lord no," he says with vehemence and she laughs despite herself. "I just, well," he waves his hand awkwardly around them, "This is wha' I think of when I think of the real Dublin. The Dublin I wanted ye to see."

She turns from him, her blood still singing, but the old church has returned some of her senses to her. Enough of them to appreciate what he is showing her.

The church is clearly very old, though not so old as a few of the cathedrals they'd toured. Stained glass windows rise over a gold painted cross, the visage of Christ hung and bleeding above them. The full moon through the colored panes casts the world in hues of blue, red, and gold. It's ethereal. It's poignant.

The sense of fate, of the idea that they were _meant_ to be here, intensifies, and she's afraid. Afraid of something she can't even begin to comprehend. The dream comes to her in flashes. The running, the chasing, and the terror of losing something –someone- more precious to her than life, than anything. Tauriel thinks that, the next time the dream comes, the man will no longer be faceless.

"I used to come here with my Pa afore they shut it down for repairs. Repairs they clearly never made," Kíli says from behind her.

His voice is soft, reverent, as his feet scuff along the dusty floor. The air is heavy here, and she feels as though something is watching her, watching _them_. She shivers.

"It's beautiful," she mummers, because it is, despite its decay and ruin.

"This is crazy," she adds a moment later, but it's also exciting and tangible where so little in her life has been.

"Aye, it is that a bit," he says ruefully and he comes to stand behind her, close enough that when he breaths, she can feel the titillating brush of his shirt on her bare back. "Feels like we've been here afore. Standing as we are, and I don't rightly understand it," he continues and his breath tickles the short hairs on the nape of her neck. It takes all her will power not to lean into him.

"I've never done anything like this before," she says, her voice catching a bit. "Running off with a stranger as he leads me through creepy underground tunnels into abandoned churches."

Kíli chuckles and it's as smooth as melted chocolate. "Well, if it makes ye feel any better, I've never brought a lass here afore. Mostly come here alone to think."

Tauriel bites her lip and turns toward him. She has to look down a bit, though she thinks they'd be of equal height if she weren't in heels. Without another thought, she toes them off, feeling the dusty chill of the stone beneath her toes. He's very close to her, but he doesn't move. He hardly seems to breathe. She's still a bit taller, but she feels more on equal ground, their eyes at level.

"What do you think about?" she asks and her voice wavers.

"Lots of things, my Pa mostly, he died when I was ten," he says, a brief flash of hurt slashing through his eyes. An old pain, but a lingering one.

Tauriel reaches out, brushing her fingers along his arm. "I'm sorry for your loss. You must have been close."

He's stepping closer to her and she swallows thickly, forcing herself to hold her ground.

"Not your fault," he says kindly. "What about yer Ma and Pa, are you close?"

"They died when I was very little," she says, her pain minimal in comparison, more a regret than anything. She has no real memory of them, just flashes of faces and feelings, which might be little more than wistful imaginings. She'd been living with her god-father and his son nearly all her life.

He reaches out hesitantly, clearly as unsure and confused as she, and brushes a strand of hair out of her eyes. His fingers linger on the apple of her cheek and trace down the line of her jaw. Her eyes flutter helplessly and she leans into his touch.

Nothing so small should feel so sinfully delicious, she thinks. They haven't even kissed and she's never felt so intimately connected to another human being before. It's insane, completely bat-shit crazy, but she can't help herself.

"I want to know ye," he says on an exhale. "Everything about ye, is that crazy?" he asks and she can taste his breath puffing across her lips. Her mouth waters.

"Completely," she says, "but I feel the same way."

A moment of silence and his fingers coast down her neck and shift into her hair. "I'd like to kiss ye," he confesses. It feels like a confession, like he's asking for absolution.

"Yes," is all she can manage to say before they've closed the distance.

His lips are dry and warm and gentle, despite the passion she can feel vibrating between them like a live wire. His mouth moves slowly across hers, like he's trying to learn everything about her with his lips and the graze of his teeth. Wide hands encompass her hips, making her feel small, feminine, and they cage her in his embrace. And, God help her, she is his willing prisoner.

Tauriel doesn't realize they're moving until her back meets the altar. Their lips part, foreheads pressed together and breathing erratic. His eyes are lidded and dark, full of promise and desire. Tauriel lets out a helpless, husky whimper and something snaps between them.

Their next kiss is bruising and desperate. Her hands fist in his hair, tugging on the smooth curls, and he crushes her body between he and the rough edge of the alter table. She moves to sit on it and he helps her, hitching her legs around his hips. The skirt of her dress bunches at her waist and she moans at the hot press of his dick through his jeans. A groan rumbles through his chest as he rocks into her, igniting the spark in her belly until it's an all-consuming blaze.

She's hardly aware that he's slipping the straps of her dress down, or that she's tugging his shirt over his head, or that she's about to have sex on an altar in an old, abandoned church with a man she barely knows. She's unaware of anything beyond his hands palming her bare breasts and his mouth and teeth latching onto her throat and scraping down her sternum. They're rocking desperately together as she arches into him, faintly aware that she's ridiculously close to orgasm with his pants still on and her panties firmly in place.

It's he who pulls away.

He tears his mouth from hers with a loud moan and then pushes her gently back.

Tauriel is dazed, reeling from the loss of contact. "Wha-"

"We shouldna do this," he says gruffly, his words cutting through her haze.

Tauriel swallows, an embarrassed flush sweeping up her chest and she jerks her dress up to cover herself, snapping her thighs together with an echoing clap.

"Oh, um, right, because the church-"

"I don give a damn abou the bloody church," he growls, and he looks up at her through his hair. He's clearly at war with himself and she bites her lip, fighting to understand.

"I don wan to take ye here like some ruttin animal is all. Ye deserve somewhere nice an…" he hesitates for a moment. "Ye deserve someone a hell o' a lot better than me," he continues, his accent growing thicker by the second.

Her knees are trembling as she comes back down to earth, brain desperately trying to catch up with her actions. She licks her lips and draws in a shaky breath before reaching out for him, touching his arm and feeling him flinch a bit at the contact.

"I-I don't want somewhere nice, and I don't want to be here with anyone else. I know this is going to sound crazy, or slutty, or stupid, but I-" she falters a little before squaring her shoulders, "I want to do this, now, here, with you, tonight."

There's a long pause and his eyes search hers even as his remain guarded and unreadable.

"Yer sure?" he asks softly, his hands flexing at his sides, as though he's barely able to keep himself restrained.

She bites her lip and nods.

He studies her for another endless moment before extending his hand. "Alright, but perhaps we shouldna ravish each other at the feet o' Christ."

Tauriel flushes deeply. "I suppose it _is_ the height of blasphemy."

He shoots her a shaky grin. " 'S not tha so much as I think he migh jus enjoy the show too much. I'm a private sorta fella, ye see."

Tauriel snorts despite herself as he leads her round the back of the alter and up a series of back stairs to a balcony above. There's a space at the very end of the walk with an array of old pillows and blankets, littered with a scattering of papers and pens and pencils, even a few empty cans of beer and soda.

Tauriel raises a brow. "You _do_ come here a lot."

Kíli releases her hand to quickly gather up the papers and kick the cans away, clearly embarrassed. "I don' live here if tha's what yer thinkin. Jus been needin' to get away more ofen than no recently."

Tauriel smiles softly and presses a light touch to his bared, bowed back, the contact stilling him. "I was only teasing, I can see why you come here. It's very peaceful and quiet. It's… special."

He sets his papers aside and turns toward her, his expression warm and grateful. "I had hoped ye'd like it."

She steps toward him, bracing a hand on his naked chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart. "I do like it. Very much."

His hands are at her hips again and his eyes have darkened. "I mus confess tha I think I'll like it here much more afer this."

"Oh?" she teases, leaning forward, "And why is that?"

He responds with his lips on hers. The sense of urgency has been tampered somewhat, focused and molded like the edge of a blade. His kiss is gentle, affectionate, and questing as they learn the touch and feel of one another. When she lets her dress slide down her chest and stomach, he helps her shimmy it over her hips so it pools at her bare feet. Her plain cotton panties follow quickly after and Kíli steps back a little to look at her.

Tauriel's sure that her makeup has run all over her face and that her hair is a terrible mess, but he's looking at her like there's nothing else in the world.

"Ye'r the lovliest thing I ever saw," he breathes and Tauriel draws in a harsh breath.

She's had one sexual partner before this, her ex-boyfriend of three years. It had ended badly with many hurt feelings on both ends. Especially since they'd basically grown up together, like brother and sister all their lives, and it had caused a major strain in their small family circle. He'd told her she was beautiful regularly, but there was something about the way Kíli says it now that allows for no argument or self-doubt.

He says it as though it is merely a fact of life, something real and unchangeable. It gives her the courage she needs to reach for the button of his jeans, her heart thundering into life at the prominent bulge of his dick against the fabric. She brushes her knuckles purposefully against him, and he lets out a desperate hiss through his teeth.

"Jesus, Mary and Joseph," he groans as she pushes his pants down and cups the heat of him through his boxers. Biting her lip with pleasure as he pulses against her palm, she squeezes gently.

"If ye don let me touch ye, I may die," he gasps out as she strokes him once, then twice.

She grins mischievously, stroking him firmly a third time before releasing him. He's on her before she can manage a startled gasp and he's lowering her gently to the musty blankets. She doesn't care though. She wouldn't have cared if it had been a dirty alley with her back pressed against a cold stone wall.

Not with him.

God, she feels unhinged, but it feels glorious and dangerous and perfect. Like him.

She cradles Kíli's weight between her thighs as she strokes her hands up his muscled back. The dark hairs on his chest crinkle and tease at her nipples as he kisses her, deeply and with a purpose. Despite the relative chill of the church, their bodies have already begun to glisten with perspiration.

He pulls back, their noses brushing and his forearms braced on either side of her head. He's so close his eyes keep threatening to meld together.

"Last chance," he says, panting, his voice rumbling out of his chest.

Tauriel reaches between them and tugs his boxers over his hips, toing them down his legs.

They don't speak after that as the world becomes hazy and warm. Kíli proves he can do more with his hands than strum a guitar as he slips the dexterous digits between her moistened folds, teasing her into madness. Tauriel kisses every part of him she can reach, tracing the veins thundering against his throat with her tongue, scraping her nails up his back and pulling desperately at his hair.

The only awkward moment comes when he fumbles a crinkled condom out of his wallet. His hands shake as he glides it down the reddened shaft of himself and she traces soothing, eager patterns against the flat of his stomach. She likes the way his muscles jump and stutter in response.

With the colored light of the windows behind him, he is wreathed in a timeless, magical glow. Like they exist in place out of time and space.

He returns to her, sliding the length of himself against her slowly, making her whimper with want and anticipation. He takes his time kissing her, even as he twitches eagerly against her thigh, and it's like he's trying to tell her something. Like he's trying to convey parts of himself to her that he's too afraid to say aloud.

Tauriel lifts her knees and he slips inside her with ease. Their shared groan echoes and floats through cavernous room. She can feel him tense as he tries to restrain himself, quivering like a fawn above her. He's buried to the hilt and she relishes in the feeling of being full and stretched and taken. It's already better than anything that's come before. Better, she thinks, than anything she might find after.

"Alrigh'?" he croaks, eyes screwed shut.

"Good," she moans. "So good."

"God, ye feel good," he grunts, pulling back to thrust swiftly forward, making her gasp. "So damned good."

Their bodies fall into an ageless rhythm, rising and cresting as the pleasure coils and tightens until she can scarcely breathe. He's panting and sweating and straining, whispering words she barely understands against her neck and into her hair. Something deep within her knows they've been here before, that they were meant to be here now, and that they will be here again.

Her orgasm almost surprises her with its intensity, and she's only dimly aware that it's _her_ voice echoing around them, Kíli's answering groans a perfect counter point. He holds her steady, keeping her safely on the ground as he seems to finally let himself go, his movements losing their structure, the snap of his hips erratic. A dozen more thrusts and he's arched above her, head thrown back in the glory of completion and she thinks that he was wrong before. He is easily the most beautiful thing in the world.

He collapses against her, barely able to keep the brunt of his weight from her with trembling arms as they both gasp for air. Awareness trickles back and reality with it as her heart slows to somewhere near normal.

He rolls onto his black, skin glistening, and she bites her lip, trying to fight back a sudden rising panic. Kíli cracks an eye open at her and frowns a little as he takes in her expression.

"This is where ye say we made a mistake," he says, still breathing hard.

"D-do you think so?" she asks, resisting the urge to find her dress and cover herself.

He studies her for a long moment, making her squirm beneath his gaze, before finally propping himself up on an elbow.

"I'm gon to tell ye somethin' I probably shouldn'," he begins.

"Oh shit-" she groans, a thousand terrible possibilities running through her mind.

"Don go lookin like tha, I aint got a disease or anythin," he pauses and seems to compose himself. He speaks his next words carefully, his accent all but gone. "I just want ye to know that I don't want this, whatever this is between us, to end here tonight. I don't want ye to fly away and never speak to me again, see me again."

Tauriel sits up, her hair falling in disheveled waves around her shoulders as she attempts to process everything he's saying. On the one hand she feels as giddy as a school girl, on the other hand she thinks that he must be insane –that they both must be. It would be better to leave things as they are; a passionate, wonderful experience… that won't ever be able to happen again.

"And I know that sounds mad as hell but," he pauses and reaches for her, turning her face to his with a gentle pressure. "I mean it. Every word. This doesn't have to end here."

"But we barely know anything about each other," she protests feebly, already swaying.

He smirks a bit, looking far too appealing naked amongst the shabby blankets.

"Ask me anythin', I'm an open book," he replies, waving a hand toward his enticing body with an exaggerated flutter.

Tauriel rolls her eyes and chuckles despite herself. "That's not what I mean and you know it."

"Alrigh," he amends, "but we've all the time in the world to get to know one another. Email, phone calls, even letters -I ain't saying it'll work, but I'd like to give it a try," he says, his expression serious and a little pleading.

Tauriel considers every reason why it's a terrible idea, and there are a lot of them, before letting out a long sigh. There seems to be only one reason, one feeling, that matters.

"You really mean it?"

"Aye, I really mean it," he promises, and something about it, maybe the church, or the fact they're both completely naked, makes it feel like a covenant. A contract.

"Alright…" she agrees hesitantly. "As long as you understand we're both clearly out of our minds."

Kíli smirks and reaches out to drag her up against him. He kisses her firmly and quickly on the lips. "Oh, we're both gone in the head to be sure. But you say it as though it tis a bad thing."

* * *

**A/N:** PSA, ladies and gents, I do not recommend running off with hot strangers in a foreign country. That being said, hope you enjoyed. (PS: still working on the kinks in Kili's accent, be nice.)


	2. They Come in Threes

**A/N:** This chapter brings us to present times (those of you who have already read the first chapter may notice a few differences as I realized that, to make this story feasible, I'd need to remove some modern references). Enjoy, and my advice to you would be –don't jump to any conclusions about anyone just yet.

* * *

**Chapter Two**

**They Come in Threes**

_Thirteen Years Later…_

**T**auriel and Marci stepped out of the court house a few minutes before noon. The last days of a Boston summer clinging to the skirts of autumn and the sun already dipping low in the sky. In a few weeks she'd have to fish out their coats from hastily packed boxes, sorting through the jumbled mess her life had become.

Everything would be pumpkin flavored in no time.

"Well, that was anti-climactic," Marci said, fishing in her purse for her car keys.

Tauriel rolled her eyes. "What were you expecting? Judge Judy?"

"_No_, but Legolas didn't even show up."

Tauriel flinched a little. The official copy of the divorce decree was clutched in her hand, feeling much heavier than a dozen pages had any right to. She hadn't expected him to come, not really.

"He didn't need to be here, it was uncontested," she said, as they crossed the busy parking lot.

The judge had merely verified everything in the paperwork, asked a few questions for clarification, and then signed her approval. It had taken all of fifteen minutes. Fifteen minutes to bring what was meant to be a lifelong contract to an end.

Tauriel was, in truth, glad Legolas hadn't shown up. She didn't regret it, the divorce, not really. But she hated to hurt him. He was a good man, a good father, but she didn't love him. Not like he wanted her to. She never had, and she knew that to keep on pretending would only make things worse. But she'd be lying if she said that, after nearly fourteen years of marriage, she wasn't a little depressed.

She felt like a failure.

"How's Jaimie holding up?" Marci asked as they weaved between the vehicles.

They both had full work days ahead of them. The hospital was only a few blocks away and Tauriel had walked. She'd told Marci it wasn't necessary for her to drive across town to attend the court hearing, but her best friend had been insistent.

"She's…" Tauriel hesitated, unsure what to say of her daughter's reaction. Indifferent seemed harsh and she had a hard time accepting it as truth; surely her daughter was just concealing her true feelings.

Jaimie loved Legolas, had always had the tendency to be a real daddy's girl, but she'd informed them both when they'd told her of the impending divorce that she would be living with Tauriel. They'd both been surprised (Legolas rather heartbroken), though Taruiel had secretly been blessedly relieved. Her daughter meant the world to her even if they'd been struggling to communicate effectively for the last year.

In truth, she'd been terrified to be alone, which was largely why it had taken her so long to file. She was thirty three, hardly a spring chicken, and she hadn't been single in over a decade.

"She's doing alright I guess, excited to start at a new school," she said as they stood beside Marci's green Subaru Outback.

"Strange kid, I would have hated my parents if they'd made me switch schools," Marci said.

Tauriel shrugged helplessly and accepted her lab coat, which she'd stored in her friend's car during the hearing.

"Listen, Tauriel," Marci said seriously, "Have you considered that maybe now is the time to, you know, come clean?"

Tauriel froze for a moment and swallowed against the sudden lump in her throat. She didn't have to ask what her friend meant. Most people had a few skeletons in their closet, Tauriel only had one. A big one.

"I'm not sure that's such a good idea Marc, one emotional blow at a time I think," she said, slipping her arms into her coat. A familiar acidic feeling was boiling in her gut.

It was a conversation they'd had many times, always with the same outcome. It never felt like a good time, like the _right_ time. Taurile knew that she was just afraid, afraid of losing the only thing that really mattered to her –Jaimie. Fear had kept her from doing a lot of things in life, and though she'd made progress, she had a long way to go.

"Hey," Marci said, and braced a hand on her shoulder, "you alright?"

Tauriel cocked a half-hearted smile. "Yeah, I mean no happy marriage ends in divorce. I feel better… relieved, just been a hell of a few months."

Marci drew her in for a quick, tight hug. "I'll be over with Terry this weekend to help you and the kiddo unpack-"

"You don't have to do that Marc."

"Hush, it's an excuse to drink wine and hire a babysitter. Two of my favorite things," Marci said and Tauriel chuckled.

Marci and her husband Terry had three children, all under the age of ten. Tauriel had no idea how her best friend of over decade did it, but wine was certainly a key part of it. She didn't care to think much of the early days of her own motherhood; they had been difficult times to say the least. Sometimes she thought she was still trying to make up for the sleep she'd lost in those first few years of Jaimie's life.

"Alright, but I'm not making anything. We'll probably just order pizza."

"Perfect, and please remember to call me if you need anything. You have a habit of falling off the deep end and not mentioning that you we're thinking of jumping over board."

Tauriel rolled her eyes but smiled despite herself. "Yes, mother. Now I really need to get back to work."

Marci groaned, pouting with disappointment. "You just got divorced, you should be able to take the rest of the day off. We could get lunch and go shopping!"

Tauriel raised a brow. "What about those deadlines you were whining about last night?" Marci worked from home, writing and blogging fulltime for a variety of websites.

"Damnit, don't remind me. Fine, fine. Back to work with you, crazy lady."

They hugged and Marci climbed into her car and zoomed off, but not before extracting a strict promise that they would hang out a lot more now that she was back into the 'single world'. Tauriel had a terrible, sneaking suspicion that a slew of single men were soon to be thrown her way. Wanting to 'play the field' had little to nothing to do with her divorce, she'd only wanted to get out from under at least one lie. Besides, Legolas deserved someone who could love him like he wanted, like he needed, and she had proved over the long years of their marriage that she was not that person. She loved him like a friend, like a brother really, but the lack of passion between them had rubbed them raw. Strained what had once been a strong relationship.

Tauriel shoved her hands into the pockets of her lab coat and began her walk back to the hospital, in no real hurry.

Her divorce decree felt hot against the back of her hand, burning a metaphorical hole in her life. She hadn't lied when she'd told Marci she felt relieved. She did. At least ten pounds lighter, in fact, but she was also more than a little sad.

Her mind wandered, as it so often did, to a spontaneous decision she'd made so long ago and how it had changed her entire life. She tried not to let it bother her, for Christ's sake it had been over a decade, but it was like an infected wound that wouldn't fully heal. It was the pivoting point of her life and everything felt like a ripple that came after.

That was the price of secrets, she thought, they never let the past lie. Secrets demanded to be remembered.

* * *

**T**auriel realized, belatedly, that she should have expected it.

"You can't be serious," she said pointlessly. She felt dizzy and disjointed.

Of course Brent was serious. Their Chief of Medicine was always serious. In the six years Tauriel had worked for him she'd seen him crack exactly _one_ smile and that had been after at least four glasses of Champaign and only because his least favorite member of the board had fallen off stage at a benefit dinner.

Brent had the decency to at least look a little uncomfortable. "I'm afraid so, but I've already spoken to our sister hospital-"

"St. George?" Tauriel spat. "It's one of the least respected hospitals in the city _and _has the lowest pay grades."

Brent pursed his lips at her. "I'm afraid I have no choice-"

Tauriel lost her composure, all but bellowing at the aged, toad like man. "Since when do our benefactors run this hospital? Since when are they permitted to decide which doctors can and cannot work here? I'm the best surgeon Greenmeadows has, which is why you made me Chief Surgeon, remember? Or has the six years I've dedicated to this place meant nothing?"

Brent sighed. "Tauriel, pleased don't make this harder than it has to be-"

Tauriel lifted a hand and rose to her feet. She could think of a thousand awful things to say, and she really wanted to shove his golden name plate as far up his –but no. No, she would allow herself some semblance of dignity.

She left the room without another word, slamming the door behind her so hard that the candy dish on the receptionist's desk slid to the floor with a crash, skittles flying in all directions. The woman made a sound of protest but Tauriel was already stalking down the halls in search of her now ex-husband.

There was nothing she could say, nothing she could do, she knew that already. Thranduil all but owned Greenmeadows, which was a privately funded organization. And it appeared that he had officially 'cut her off.' Or at least that was how he was swinging things.

Never mind that she had started working at the little hospital long before Legolas had transferred to their Obstetrics division. Never mind that he'd only started funding the place after she'd already established herself as one of their leading surgeons. No, Thranduil was out for blood, that much was clear.

Legolas was in his office as she stormed in. He looked up from a massive stack of paperwork and a shadow passed over his features when he saw her framed in the doorway.

"Did you know," she demanded, too furious to allow guilt to overwhelm her. Legolas looked bone tired, dark circles beneath his vibrant blue eyes.

He was still impeccably dressed and kempt, not a hair out of place on his golden head. It was one of their many differences; Tauriel had a habit of being a hot mess ninety percent of the time.

"Tauriel, if this is about the divorce then... yes," he said, sounding weary and agitated, "I know it was this morning. I saw no reason for me to be there-"

"This isn't about the damned divorce," she bit out, "It's about your father having me _fired_!"

Her voice echoed down the hall and she could hear the hushed whispers of the nurses at the central nurse's station like the excited hum of killer bees. Legolas visibly paled and rose from behind his desk to usher her inside and close his office door. Tauriel refused to sit, pacing angrily behind two worn chairs and shoving shaking hands under her arms.

"Surely they haven't fired you, and how could my father-"

"You know he could, Legolas. You know the sort of pressure he's capable of putting on this place. He's their biggest benefactor." Tauriel had no patience for pandering. They both knew what Thranduil was capable of when he felt pressed.

Her god-father-turned-step-father was punishing her for the divorce, never mind that his actions would have a direct and negative effect on his granddaughter. Or maybe that was the point. Her blood went cold as she considered the possibility that this was all meant as a way to take her daughter from her. Would Thranduil stoop so low?

"I'll speak to him," Legolas said, looking stricken. "We'll sort this out."

It was the word _'we'_ that brought her to her senses.

It wasn't important whether Legolas had known or not, not really. It wasn't even important if he'd had a hand in it –though she doubted it. What was important was that here she was, a bare two hours after officially being divorced, and she was, in essence, at his door begging for his help.

She realized in that moment that beneath the anger and indignation was a well of relief.

Working with and seeing Legolas nearly every day, even if just in passing, had weighed on her. As well as the knowledge that there were still those who thought she owed her success to her father-in-law, a worry she shared. She wanted to believe that she'd been awarded the position of Chief Surgeon based off her own merits, but there was always that niggling of self-doubt.

Tauriel took a shaky breath, the fight leaking out of her. "No… no, don't, maybe its better this way."

Legolas shook his head, a familiar look of hurt crossing his features. He was a very good looking man, the apple of every nurse's eye and constantly sought after by the female physicians. Age had only refined him, and Tauriel was well aware that almost everyone in the hospital thought she was a crazy bitch for divorcing him. But what she saw was a friend hurting because of her, not a lover or a soul mate she was desperate to console.

"Tauriel, don't be like this. After all your hard work and dedication," he pleaded and she saw that he wanted her close, that he wanted her nearby. Suddenly the hospital seemed more a prison than the refuge it had once been.

It strengthened her resolve.

"I'll sort this out, okay? Maybe-Well, maybe it's better if I find someplace else to work," she said and watched as Legolas deflated.

He was a tall man, several inches taller than she who was fairly tall for a woman, but he seemed much shorter in that moment. It killed her to know that she was the reason he felt so small, so broken. She was dangerously on the verge of tears. Marci was right, she should have taken the day off; it had proven to be an insane and emotional roller-coaster.

"Hey, I- God, sorry just doesn't seem like the right word. There's nothing I can say now I guess, other than that I'm sorry, so very sorry. For barging in here like this… a-and for everything else," she fumbled.

Legolas let out a shaky sigh and flashed her the sorriest excuse for a smile she'd ever seen. "I know I'm supposed to be the angry and jilted ex, but it doesn't have to be like that between us. I don't want it to be."

Tauriel nodded and jabbed angrily at the tears leaking from her eyes with her coat sleeve. "Yeah, I don't want that either. But I think we both could use some space."

"I still love you, you know," he said, making everything that much worse.

"I love you too," she told him, because it was true, even if they both knew it wasn't the right sort of love.

* * *

**T**auriel packed her office into a few small boxes. It took about thirty minutes in all.

It was funny, she thought as she cleared out all her paperwork and tossed it carelessly into a box for someone else to sort out, how it could take years to build a life which could be utterly destroyed in only a few short moments.

No one bothered her. No one came by to offer their help. Legolas was very popular.

She swept the items on her desks unceremoniously into a box, fighting the urge to throw things out the window, but paused suddenly over a family photo. With a defeated groan she snatched it up and fell back into her desk chair, cradling the frame in her hands. The picture had been taken the year prior, on their family trip to Universal Studios. They were all smiling, their arms around each other, the picture perfect family. Jaimie stood front and center, brandishing a wand and scarf from Harry Potter Land.

Jaimie looked just like him. The same dark curls and eyes, the olive skin, the cheeky smirk. Her mouth and nose belonged to Tauriel, and her small feet, but the rest belonged to an Irishman she'd known for a single night, who could have been dead for all she knew. Nothing a google search wouldn't have solved, of course, but it felt like she would have been unearthing a ghost, one she thought was better to let lie. Until now.

Things were changing, and Marci's words echoes through her mind. She'd been putting things off for too long, for far, far too long.

Smoothing a hand over her face, she set the photo gently inside the box wondering where he was, the Irish pub singer. _Kíli_, her mind supplied, because she'd never forgotten his name or his face. She wondered if he ever thought of her and the child he hadn't wanted, if she was the skeleton in _his_ closet. There was an old bitterness there, like an old friend who had long overstayed their welcome.

A bitterness at her own naive foolishness, at the insipid hope and expectation, and the long reaching consequences of letting her judgement slip too far off the map.

* * *

**T**he apartment was small but well-furnished, located in one of the nicer parts of Boston. It had two bedrooms, two bathrooms, a spacious living room, kitchen and dining room. It was much smaller than their two story Victorian, but it suited her just fine.

Tauriel wouldn't be able to afford the rent for longer than a few months, however, if she didn't find a decent job.

After picking up Jaimie from a friend's house, she'd immediately unpacked a bottle of wine from a box and was drinking directly out of the bottle like a pathetic drunkard in her kitchen. She could hear the radio pulsing from Jaimie's bedroom as her daughter unpacked her belongings. They hadn't spoken a word to one another in the car, which wasn't exactly uncommon these days.

While Jaimie had always been a Daddy's Girl, she and Tauriel had always gotten along fine. Their relationship had always been strong, if not quite so close, but that had changed over the last year. Tauriel had blamed teenage hormones at first, but now it felt like something more, something deeper.

She made spaghetti for dinner and called Jaimie when it was finished. The thirteen year old arrived dressed in faded sweat pants and one of her dad's old band tees, Something Corporate written across her chest in bold letters. Her hair was its normal curly mess, piled atop her head in a crooked bun. She'd definitely inherited Tauriel's disdain for primping, whose own red hair was collected in a similar manner.

"Hey," Tauriel called as her daughter grabbed a serving and attempted to head back into her bedroom, "Let's eat together tonight, alright?"

Jaimie rolled her eyes a little but settled dutifully at the small, box cluttered dining table. Tauriel put a few of them on the floor and sat across from her, wondering how it had become so hard to speak to someone who had literally come from her own womb.

Jaimie's nose was turned down toward her food, slurping up the noodles mechanically as her mother studied her. Better just to spit it out now, she thought.

"The divorce went through today. Oh, and I lost my job," she said, slowly twirling a few noodles onto her spoon. She didn't have much of an appetite.

Jaimie's fork paused a few inches from her mouth and she slowly set it back down. "Oh… that sucks," she said, eyes flicking up then down again as she processed the information.

"Was it because of the divorce? Them firing you I mean."

Tauriel flexed her jaw for a moment, smothering another wave of rising anger at the injustice of it all. "Yeah, probably, not that they can say that."

Jaimie bit her lip. "Was dad, you know," she hesitated.

Tauriel shook her head sternly. "No, no. It, well, it doesn't really matter who's fault it is. It's probably for the best. I'll find a new job, don't worry." She shoveled a forkful of noodles into her mouth, just to make herself shut up. The wine had clearly gone to her head.

"Like maybe in Ireland?" her daughter supplied.

Tauriel choked.

"Wh-wha-"

Jaimie fixed her with a steady stare that held an all too knowing look and the bottom fell out of Tauriel's stomach as a thousand possibilities rushed through her mind at once. It wasn't possible, it _couldn't_ be possible-

"I found his letter last year, Mom," her daughter said, looking vaguely guilty but also clearly angry. "Were you ever going to tell me?"

Marci was always saying that bad things came in threes. Clearly she was right. Tauriel felt like the wind had been knocked out of her, she had no idea what to say.

"I thought maybe you'd tell me after leaving dad, or maybe that that was why you were leaving him, because he found out or something," Jaimie was rushing on, her cheeks growing pink with agitation. "Or does dad even know?"

"Yes, he knows," Tauriel managed to breathe out, hardly aware she was speaking.

Hurt struck clear and visceral across Jaimie's face and Tauriel's heart ached like a wound. "So everyone knew but me."

"No, no baby," Tauriel gushed and rose to shaky feet, fumbling until she was kneeling desperately at her daughter's side.

Jaimie's was closed into herself, and she refused to look at her mother, shoulders hunched up around her ears. "Legolas _is_ your father, he loves you-"

"But he's not my real dad, is he?" Jaimie gritted out, and Tauriel could see tears swimming in her eyes.

"In every way that counts."

Jaimie sniffed and rose to her feet, Tauriel tried to stop her, but she tugged out of her grip. "Just, leave me alone, Mom."

She left Tauriel alone, surrounded by boxes and the shattered pieces of her life.

* * *

**T**auriel had finished a bottle and a half of wine when she tugged her cell phone out of her pocket.

She stared at it for a long while, cars rushing past below her as a chill brokered on the wind. With heavy fingers she typed his name into the search engine. His face popped up immediately and it was like a dagger in her lungs. He looked almost exactly the same. His hair was shorter, trimmed to keep the curls in check, and he wore a nice suit with his head ducked down to, apparently, avoid the cameras.

The first link read: _'Billionaire miner dead, leaves two young nephews in charge of international business."_

The second link followed: _'Thorin Oakenshield's wild nephews to inherit entire fortune."_

And the third: _'Can Ireland's infamous playboy's rise to the occasion?'_

Whatever Tauriel had been expecting, it certainly wasn't this.

Maybe a Facebook page or a few music related articles. The last time she and Kíli had spoken, a few days before the pregnancy test had read positive, he'd told her he was from a long line of miners but that he'd always wanted to enter into the music industry. When he'd mentioned miners, she pictured men in jean overalls covered in coal, not rich business executives.

She clicked on an image of his face and stared at it for what might have been hours, trying to read something of the man he'd become in the lines and curves of his face.

Tauriel took another long, hard swallow and typed a different search into the task bar.

* * *

**A/N: **Poor Legolas, I feel awful for him too. Things get better for him, and everyone else... eventually, don't worry. Sometimes people just don't work out my friends, but that doesn't mean they don't care about each other.


	3. The Luck of the Irish, or Whatever

**A/N: **Look at me guys! I'm on a roll. Things are picking up, woot woot. I have nothing more intelligent to say. Enjoy.**  
**

* * *

**Chapter Three**

**The Luck of the Irish, or Whatever**

* * *

**M**arci handed her a hearty helping of painkillers and a tall glass filled with what looked to be baby vomit. Tauriel groaned miserably.

"Not Tomorrow's Tonic, I'd rather die," she said, and turned her face back into her pillow, wishing someone would just smother her to death already. Why was the sun so bright? Why was the air so thick and slimy in her lungs?

Christ help her, why had she drank so much?

One thing was clear, an over-thirty year-old body did _not_ handle alcohol like her twenty-something body once had.

Marci clicked her tongue and rolled Tauriel gently back over. She may as well have flipped her over with a bulldozer.

"Don't make me grab the funnel. Remember New Years, sophomore year?"

Tauriel managed to peel an eyelid open to glare at her and immediately regretted it. The sunlight was like nails being driven cheerfully into her skull one at a time with a sledge hammer. With arms that felt like they were missing a few key components, she managed to sit up in bed, still dressed in yesterday's clothes.

Marci thrust the glass at her and watched her like a mother hen until she'd swallowed every last, awful drop. She felt better, of course, but it hardly seemed worth the taste. Gulping down a glass and a half of water helped, and she rested her head back against the wall trying to reorient the world onto its proper axis.

"What time is it?" she asked.

"Quarter to ten."

"Shit. Where are your kids?

"Terry had the day off, I made him cancel his golf date. I owe him a blow job now, I hope you're happy."

"Jaimie?" she said, ignoring at least half of what her friend had said.

Marci sighed. "In her room, refused to come out, even when I mentioned I brought donuts."

Tauriel pressed a hand to her forehead, the events of the day before dropping on her like a yellow brick house. She certainly felt like a wicked witch.

No point in beating around the bush. "She knows, Marc. She found his letter. Oh, and I was fired," she added as an afterthought. "Yay me"

A pause. "Well, shit," Marci said calmly.

"Yeah."

"What did you say? To Jaimie that is. We'll get back to that whole 'fired' thing."

"Not much."

"And then you drank two bottles of wine by yourself?"

"Pretty much."

She could practically feel Marci's disapproval. "I told you to call me."

"Well, I texted you this morning."

Marci snorted diversely. "Yeah, that you were dying and that I could have your big screen so long as I wiped the memory on your laptop. Completed with a skull emoji."

Tauriel rubbed her sleeve over the back of her mouth. "Hey, that's an important friendship stipulation. I'd do it for you."

Marci rolled her eyes and smiled. "Don't worry, your dirty porn fetishes are safe with me."

"You're the best."

There was a pregnant pause, filled with each of them attempting to ignore the giant, hovering elephant that had taken a shit all over her life.

"Okay, so, the truth is out now. That can be a good thing, right?" Marci offered and went into the bathroom to wet a towel.

Tauriel wanted nothing more than to just roll over and go back to sleep for, oh, the next fifty years or so.

"Well, the cat is definitely out of the bag. The question is, what do I do now? She hates me, I doubt she'll speak to me."

Marci was frowning when she came back and, with telling gentleness, she dabbed at Tauriel's face. Typically she would have rankled at being fussed over like a sickly child, but under present circumstances, she was willing to be cared for.

"First of all, I seriously doubt she hates you. She's a teenager who just found out her handsome, successful, perfect father –"

"Not helping Marc," Tauriel snapped.

"Hey, I'm totally supportive of your split, I get it, but that doesn't make him any less attractive."

"I'm telling Terry," she threatened as she fought back a smile. Marci had a habit of making her laugh even when she felt like the world was ending. That seemed vitally important in a best friend. That and their shared affinity for inappropriately timed sarcasm.

"Please, Terry thinks he's as sexy as I do."

Tauriel halfheartedly hit her friend with a pillow before the conversation turned serious again.

"Soooooo, how long has she known?" Marci asked, as she set the little towel aside. Tauriel was starting to feel vaguely human again.

"A year, I guess, which sort of explains why she's been so weird and distant."

"And you really haven't attempted to contact him at all in the last ten years?"

Tauriel was surprised by how much the memory of that day, the day she had received Kíli's letter filled with cordial rejection, still hurt. "No, no I haven't. He made his wishes and feelings pretty clear."

Marci patted her hand comfortingly as she settled into the chair she'd clearly brought in from the dining room. "That was over ten years ago Tauri, people change, I mean the poor guy was only 18-"

"And I was only twenty," Tauriel snapped before she could stop herself.

She turned her face away, hating the way her entire life suddenly felt completely out of her control. No matter how many years passed she would never forget the cold, sick feeling that had washed over her as she read his detached, calculated words scribbled out on fine paper.

"Hey, hey, I know okay? It was a total shit move on his part," Marci soothed. "All I'm saying is that maybe you should give him another chance, for Jaimie's sake. We both know Legolas is a great father, but it's always going to bother her, not knowing where she comes from. It can be hard for a person to know who they really want to be without first knowing who they are."

Tauriel swallowed thickly, tears pricking. Christ, she was a mess.

"Knowing _him_ isn't going to tell her who she is. He's just some guy I met and had sex with because I wanted to take a chance. You see where that got me." She jabbed a hand around the room filled with half emptied boxes and senseless clutter.

"Yeah," Marci said softly, "It got you a great kid who loves you and needs your help."

That sobered her up real quick. The angry words that had been climbing up her throat settled back down again. It was several long moments before she spoke, looking to her friend with desperation.

"I have no idea what to do, Marc. None whatsoever. I feel like my whole life just decided to implode yesterday," she paused and looked down plaintively at her clenched hands. "I-I looked him up last night, Marc, and he's a fucking _billionaire_."

Her friend blinked and snorted, then realized Tauriel wasn't kidding. "You're joking right? Wasn't he some bummy pub singer? Is he secretly Ed Sheeran?"

Tauriel rolled her eyes and fumbled for her phone on the nightstand. She typed in his name and thrust the phone at her. "See for yourself."

A few moments later Marci let out a long whistle, eyes wide with shock and disbelief. "Holy shit dude, you definitely have to find him now."

Tauriel bristled. "Why? Because he's loaded?"

"Well that, and he's seriously _hot_."

"Marc!" Tauriel exclaimed, scandalized. "Please try to remember that this is the man who knocked me up and totally bailed."

Marci blushed. "Right, sorry. But seriously, don't you think he owes Jaimie some of his good fortune. She _is_ his kid after all. And Jesus, she really does look just like him."

Tauriel bristled. "I don't want his money, not now, not after all these years. I'd rather eat your homemade lasagna."

"First of all, fuck you. Second of all, I still think Jaimie deserves the right to speak to him, if he'll talk to her."

Tauriel drew in a shaky breathe. "I just… I don't want to see her get her hopes up and have her heart broken, you know?"

Marci pursed her lips thoughtfully before speaking with care. She had a habit of never taking life very seriously, but when Marci Wright had something solemn to say, people tended to listen. "I don't think there is any worse feeling in the world than not knowing, Tauriel. She'll always, _always_ wonder 'what if'. Better to have her heart broken than to spend the rest of her life questioning what could have happened, what might have been, and probably blaming you for it, I should add."

Tauriel sank back into the bed, wishing it would just swallow her up. "I seriously hate when you turn all writerly on me."

"What can I say," Marci preened. "It's my calling."

"Alright, I'll talk to Legolas. Now can I have a donut?"

"After you shower, you smell like a bar bathroom."

"Bitch."

"Love you, too. And after you smell better you can tell me all about how you finally shoved your boss out a window."

* * *

**I**f Tauriel had expected Legolas to be on her side, she was sorely mistaken.

He ran a hand through his hair with a sigh, bracing his elbows on the knees of his carefully pleated slacks. The poor man looked older than his thirty nine years, hints of gray gleaming in the blonde that hadn't been there a few months before.

"We always knew this day would come eventually, Tauriel. And as much as I hate to say it, she _does_ have a right to know. I never pushed you because it was your story to tell, but I think we should have told her long before this."

They were seated on the front porch of the home they'd bought four years ago. It had been perfect, everything they'd ever dreamed of. Tauriel had planned to watch Jaimie grow up here, to grow old within its walls, maybe play with a few grandkids (far, far in the future). Instead she'd become an outsider, a guest.

She rocked back and forth anxiously, unsure what she should say. Jaimie was upstairs, having barely said a word to Legolas when they'd arrived.

Haltingly, Tauriel explained everything she'd discovered about Kíli Callaghan from her further research online. He was, indeed from a long line of miners, who had begun their company sometime in the late 18th century. His Uncle, Thorin Oakenshield, had had no children when he died of terminal cancer earlier that year, and had left his entire, sizable fortune to his two nephews. Nephews who, if the tabloids were to be believed, were more interested in drinking and women than actually managing a billion dollar, international business.

Legolas was silent for a long while after she'd finished speaking.

"That's certainly not what I expected," he said tonelessly.

Tauriel grunted. "Yeah, me either."

"What are you thinking, Taruiel? What is your gut feeling?" he asked with sudden and surprising intensity. "This is your show, this was always your choice."

Tauriel flinched. "She's your daughter as much as mine."

Legolas's face softened. "I appreciate that, Tauriel. I love her more than anything, but I understand how she must feel. I never knew my mother, just a slew of step mothers who never lasted very long, as you know."

Tauriel did know. She'd been there right beside him through every one of Thranduil's hasty marriages and bitter divorces. She'd always been Legolas's pillar and he had been hers. His kind smile told her that, though things were strained between them now, there was a chance for them to reclaim that connection someday in the future. It gave her hope.

"I don't doubt that whatever Jaimie finds in this man, she will love me just the same, and I her. We aren't doing her, or us, any favors by shielding her from the truth."

"I looked at jobs in Ireland last night," she blurted out, though she left out the bit where she'd drank more than she had in the past five years at once.

Legolas's eyes widened and she rushed on. "I'm not sure what I was thinking exactly. I mean, I don't have a job anymore and I don't particularly like most of the other hospitals in Boston, as you know." There had been several years of medical school where she'd been forced to work in many of them and they were all relatively terrible. "I just thought that maybe… I don't know, I could get away for a while and see what I could find out." She shrugged helplessly. It sounded insane, even to her.

Legolas nodded his head vaguely, not really looking at her as the sun began to set orange and yellow. "And what about Jaimie?"

Tauriel bit her lip. "I hadn't thought to take her or anything not yet anyway-"

"Maybe you should," he said quietly, surprising her.

"What? You think I ought to move our daughter to a foreign country while I try to track down her biological father whom I haven't spoken to since before she was born?" she scoffed.

Legolas caught her eye, expression grave. "I think it might be good for her. For both of you."

"You can't be serious," she shook her head. "I mean, you'd hardly get to see her."

His expression darkened and he inhaled sharply. "I know that, and I'm not saying I'm excited about it, but she deserves a chance to see where she comes from, her heritage, and maybe to meet a family that doesn't even know she exists."

"I don't know what to say."

He smiled a little. "I know how hard these past few months have been for you-"

"For both of us," she said and hesitantly reached out to take his hand. His fingers enfolded hers briefly in gratitude before she drew away.

"And I understand why you might feel like you need a new start," he continued. "And why you might feel that there are some parts of your past you haven't been able to resolve." He shook his head ruefully as Tauriel's heart broke for him all over again.

"You sound like Marci," she accused and he chuckled.

"She's a smart woman," he told her, "I really do think you should go and take Jaimie with you. Maybe just for a few months to a year, let her see the world a little bit, help to mend the tension between the two of you. She can come visit on breaks and I'd love to come visit as well, see the sights," he teased, but she could tell it was a struggle for him.

Tauriel listened to the creak of the chair as she dipped backward, the world suddenly a larger, scarier place than it had been just a few days before. "You really mean it don't you?"

"I really do."

Tauriel shook her head again. "You've always been too good to me, Legolas, and I hardly deserve your kindness and understanding now."

His smile was the brightest she'd seen it in weeks when he said, "No one has ever deserved it more. I once promised you that I'd always be there for you and Jaimie no matter what, I meant it then and I mean it now."

"You're still my best and dearest friend," she said with a voice that quavered.

He looked sad again. "We're not quite there yet, I don't think, but we will be. You were right, yesterday, we both need our space to sort ourselves out."

They sat in silence then as the sun set quietly against a purpled sky. Tauriel felt, despite the guilt and fear of the unknown, strangely at peace.

* * *

**T**he plane touched down and jolted Tauriel out of a dreamless sleep. Her mouth was dry and her brain fuzzy as she blinked back into consciousness.

"Hey," she muttered hoarsely, nudging Jaimie. "We're here."

The thirteen year old snorted softly as she woke and tugged out her earbuds, flipping back the hood of her sweater and rubbing at her eyes. Outside, rain was pelting softly against the tiny windows of the plane. It was dusk, and the sky had a soft, gentle quality to it.

Typical Irish weather, she supposed.

Tauriel stood and stretched with a groan, pressing her palms hard against her aching back. She'd been a lot more excited about her trip to Ireland at the ripe old age of twenty that was for sure. Currently she was filled with a sudden and predominate sense of dread, and a growing certainty that she'd made a terrible, terrible mistake. Jaimie, however, was practically buzzing with anxiety as she hastily pulled her back-pack out from under her chair.

Together they fished out their carryon bags and fell into line. A little old woman with bright red hair was grinning at them from across the way, a tiny shrunken old man peeking out from behind her.

"Here on holiday dearies?" she asked kindly in a thick English accent.

"For work, I'm afraid," Tauriel answered, not precisely in the mood for conversation. She was trying to have an existential crisis, damnit.

"Mom's a doctor," Jaimie gushed, bouncing on the balls of her feet.

"Oh, is that so? And American, too, how lovely," the woman piqued, clearly impressed. "Come to work here in Dublin, then?"

"No we're going to Droghead," Jaimie said, stumbling a little over the name. Tauriel wasn't precisely sure how it was pronounced, to be honest. She knew exactly two things about the place: one, that it had a hospital willing to hire her and two, it was home to Oakenshield Mining Incorporation's executive office.

The old woman chuckled as though Jaimie were the cutest thing she'd ever seen as the line started to move. "Good luck to ye dearies," she said as they moved forward.

"The luck of the Irish," Tauriel muttered sardonically, and Jaimie elbowed her in reproach.

"Don't be cranky Mom, this is _exciting_," she insisted and Tauriel winched even as a smile slid across her teeth.

As soon as Tauriel had mentioned looking for work in Ireland, and that maybe it was time for Jaimie to pay a visit to her birth father, her daughter's entire attitude toward her had changed. Tauriel, on the other hand, felt a little as though she were walking toward the executioner's chair, and Jaimie's excitement made her nervous. They'd had several long talks with her about her getting her hopes up. Legolas specifically had warned her that there was a good chance that Kíli Callaghan might want nothing to do with her. But nothing could quell her daughter's enthusiasm.

Before Tauriel knew it, she'd paid the lease breaking fee on her apartment and faxed over the last of her information to the Our Lady of Lourdes Hospital in Drogheda, Ireland. The visa and passport applications had been complex, they'd had to rearrange a custody agreement with the courts, but it still had gone by in record time. She was still trying to recover from the emotional whiplash; after spending a large portion of her life trying to play it safe, trying to avoid drastic change, she was dangling from a thread over a chasm of the unknown.

The two of them followed the lighted signs as they led them to baggage claim, jostled about by dozens of people with accents so thick they could have been speaking a foreign language. Tauriel had sent a few boxes of their belongings ahead, but they'd come with very little. The hospital, eager to have such a highly recommended surgeon (she blamed Legolas's influence on Brent for this), had promised her a fully furnished home that would be, to quote the human resources woman, 'perfect for ye and yer wee lass.'

Tauriel was trying to be optimistic.

After finally wresting their bags from the conveyor belt, they descended into the main portion of the airport. A man was waiting for them front and center, dressed in a warm wool coat and thick scarf, holding a sign which read 'Woods' on it in bold letters. Tauriel steeled herself as they approached.

"Mr. Baggins?" she asked and the man smiled kindly, stepping forward to shake her hand.

"Bilbo, please ma'am. I trust you had a good flight?" his accent was vaguely English and his manner calm and warm.

Tauriel felt some of the apprehension ease from her shoulders. "Yes, though rather long," she confessed. "Please call me Tauriel, and this is my daughter, Jaimie."

The man smiled at Jaimie and tipped his imaginary hat to her. "A fine Irish name you have there, young lady, though I'm afraid it's traditionally a nickname for James."

Jaimie grinned. "My Aunt Marci calls me that all the time, I don't mind."

Mr. Baggins took Jaimie's bag with a quick wink at Tauriel. "A girl who knows her own mind, I see."

"People in Ireland sure have interesting names," her daughter whispered behind a gloved hand and Tauriel smothered a laugh, certain their kind chauffeur had heard as the corners of his mouth twitched.

The main doors of the airport slid open and Tauriel found herself pausing before them, trepidation in her heart. To take the last few steps suddenly seemed more real than any other steps she'd taken prior. As if, were she to step foot on the ground outside, she'd be swept away on a path she couldn't see down. The air tasted familiar, waking a wave of long buried feeling and memories. Memories of a night filled with excitement and passion.

Jaimie, in a rare show of affection, slipped her hand into Tauriel's.

"Come on, Mom, we can do this," she said, smiling and reminding Tauriel very much of the man she'd once met in the very city in which they stood.

"Yes," she agreed, swelling with pride at her daughter's bravery. "Yes, we absolutely can."

* * *

**A/N: **Next chapter IRELAND.


End file.
